


A Bit of Science

by Bool_Ji



Category: Marvel
Genre: Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bool_Ji/pseuds/Bool_Ji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doom tries an experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Science

**Author's Note:**

> It results in sexytime. 
> 
> For what it's worth, this takes place outside my 100 list.

Doom cannot move his arms. His hands were shackled to the wall by a spell invoking some archaic god he'd never even heard of before. Not that he particularly wanted to get free. The biting glare in Doctor Strange's eyes was very intriguing.

“Hello, Stephen.”

The sorcerer's voice was less than amicable. “Victor, what the hell did you do?”

Doom winced in mock hurt. “I was finishing a prototype when you barged in here and chained me to the wall. Of course, _I'm_ always to blame when you're in a bad mood--” 

“I'm not in a bad mood.” Stephen made sure the door was closed before stepping close to Doom to mutter in his ear. “I'm really horny.” His eyes fell shut, tension slipping from his body. “By the Vishanti, are you wearing cologne? You smell good.” Desire rose through him, making his head spin. He leaned against the king, and the powerful, solid sensation of steel armor pressing against him felt so right.

When he felt steady enough to open his eyes, he got the distinct impression that Doom was trying hard not to laugh. There was a glint in his electric blue eyes, and even his mask seemed to sport a Cheshire's grin. Stephen frowned, wrestling for some control of himself. Something was wrong here.

“Did you put something in my drink?” Stephen asked.

That was definitely a smile in Doom's eyes. “The effects are temporary."

Anger cut through lust long enough for Stephen to back off from the king. “You drugged me?” He glared at Doom, but found himself regretting it. Doom was built like a linebacker, reflective metal accenting existing human muscle, green cloth draping off his body, and with his arms immobilized like that so he was held open for the taking – and he swore the mask was legitimately grinning at him, and for some reason that made his dick stir with excitement. Stephen grunted, balling his hands into fists. “Damn it...”

“While you're here,” Doom said, “perhaps you can assist me.” He eyed the growing bulge in the sorcerer's pants. “You may help yourself as well.”

It took a moment for Stephen to process. “Ah. Right. A prototype?”

Doom glanced at his right arm, where the gauntlet met the vambrace. “A new armor lock of my own design, reinforced with entanglement runes. The locks will never be forced apart in combat, or cracked by hostile magic.” He looked back to Stephen. “You know where they are. Try to open them.”

Stephen paused again, but this time out of shock, staring at the king. “You drugged me – to make me sexed up – to...what, simulate the stress of battle? So you could test if I can break the locks of your armor.”

There was unmistakable pride in Doom's voice. “If the Sorcerer Supreme cannot do it, then I believe the prototype is a success.”

He was still smiling as Stephen hauled him off the wall by the gold chain of his cloak. The sorcerer glared at him, anger winning over the effect of the drug for now. His disgust with Doom's methods was quickly dissolving under the king's gaze, however, cocky delight in those burning argon blues. Stephen knew there was a genuine smile under the metal mask, and that he was one of the few people to know what that truly looked like made his heart pound.

“Crazy bastard,” he muttered, before pressing his lips to the cool steel.

Doom liked it when Stephen kissed his mask. He couldn't feel it, but that Stephen would kiss the metal without any coaxing, unafraid of its usual intimidating grimace, amused him. His smile widened, fixing Stephen with a challenge in his eyes.

Stephen reached back into Doom's hood to feel the locks that kept his mask in place. The tremble in his fingers refused to cooperate with the plan to undo the fancy metalwork, made worse by whatever was working in his system – that wasn't cologne Doom was wearing, that must have been some kind of trigger scent – crazy _bastard_. It felt far more interesting to stroke steel plates, hard and smooth to the touch, instead of toying with inconsequential locks...

No, he could control himself. Doom thought this was _funny_. He wasn't going to let the king get away with it that easily.

Stephen could read spells with his fingertips as easily as runes on a page, and he felt the specific contours and textures of what Doom had enchanted the locks with. “The Tangled Thread of Ree-Creelshid and the Behesenrig Concealment charm, layered together with--” Doom suddenly pressed a steel-coated thigh against Stephen's groin, and the sorcerer briefly forgot his own name, let alone whatever the spell was called, pleasure rushing back to assault him. “Hoary hosts of--!”

The low chuckle that Doom let slip brought Stephen a bit of clarity. Mustering up a frown that wasn't entirely sincere, Stephen trailed his hands down Doom's body, pausing to check other locks. The belt at his waist was easily undone, a difference that served only to tease the sorcerer further. “Just...why, Victor?” he asked, “Why drug me? Why not just spar with me?”

“Because, Stephen,” Doom replied, leaning in as far as he could to murmur lowly in his ear, “I enjoy watching you writhe.”

Those words, spoken in that deep, commanding voice, are all it took for Stephen to give up to the pleasure. He let go of Doom long enough to gingerly extract his dick from his pants, painfully hard and hot in his hand. Clinging to the king's shoulder with one arm, he stroked himself in earnest, moaning with satisfaction. “Crazy, crazy, goddamn bastard...”

Doom drank in the sight of Stephen taking his pleasure, vaguely wondering if this amount of time spent with a smug smile on his face was a new record. “Always the poet, Stephen.” He offered his thigh to rub against, and the sorcerer did so enthusiastically, grip tightening on his shoulder. Confusion flashed through his mind for a moment when his arms didn't respond, then remembered he was still stuck to the wall. That was starting to be a small nuisance.

“Talk to me, Victor,” Stephen said, breath coming hard and fast.

That killed off Doom's smile. “You make enough noise for the both of us.”

“You're always so quiet when we have sex,” Stephen panted. The tip of his cock was moist, and his breath caught in his throat as he rubbed it gently. “This – this isn't enough. Just – please, talk to me, get me off, please, I'm so close...”

Doom disliked talking dirty. It was a vulgar thing, and while he enjoyed hearing Stephen spout praise to his sexual prowess, it was beneath his own station. But the sounds coming from the sorcerer and how he arched against his armored body certainly deserved a few words, and Stephen did ask nicely...

“Please, please,” Stephen muttered, desperation in his voice.

Well. They could compromise.

It took a moment for Stephen to realize Doom was speaking to him, but not in a language he understood. It was a strangely melodic dialect, one that he heard Doom's servants and subjects use. It was Latverian, the common tongue of the country, and he could catch almost every fifth word over the roar of blood in his ears. “Victor--”

“ _Does it turn you on, Stephen?_ ” Doom asked, murmuring into his ear, “ _Does metal make your heart pound just as hard as flesh? Rutting against my steel so desperately I can feel it... I would wager the mere sight of me passing you by sends thoughts of past encounters when we've had sex with my armor on through your mind. Certainly you remember our first time – bathed in moonlight, you tore my tunic in your lust, on top of me as I took you on my throne. A satisfactory beginning, even after the alcohol wore off..._ ”

“Don't stop,” Stephen hissed, rubbing against the king. He knew he was entirely in Doom's power, but couldn't find it in himself to care. He just wanted to come.

“ _You could have me any time you wanted_ ,” Doom continued, “ _It would only take the look in your eye, a brush of skin on steel, and a single simple word, and I would have you screaming my name. I would have you on the floor, bent over the nearest desk, or pinned to the wall, and take you apart until you could think of nothing else._ ” The harsh breaths in his ear increased in intensity. He could tell Stephen was on the edge, wetness smearing across the sorcerer's fingers. The king kept his tone tender, giving Stephen a rhythm to work with. “ _You are beautiful when you surrender control, raw and wild magic between us, and it is always so impressively powerful. You beg for more, you demand no one else, and I supply it, because as much as I am in your mind, the very thought of me making you tremble, you are also under_ my _skin._ ”

Stephen choked back a cry, squeezing Doom's shoulder as his body erupted with heat, vision turning white. The world returned slowly, things coming back into clarity. Two vibrant blue eyes were peering into his own, hinting at a smile. Stephen could barely stand straight, and Doom wasn't much better off, arms held open. The wet streaks of white that stood out against his green tunic made the sorcerer sigh pleasurably, wrapping both arms around the king for a proper embrace.

“So that's why they call you a master orator,” he said, orgasm leaving him high and content.

A low huff of laughter was his response. “ _Szeretlek, én bűvész_ ,” Doom whispered into his ear, a silent, sincere secret.

“What does that mean?”

“My arms hurt.” Doom pulled against the spell binding him to the wall, but it was harder than concrete, than anything found on earth. “Release me. You have served your purpose.” 

Feeling more like himself now that the drug had worn off, Stephen let go of the king, backing off a few steps. Tucking himself into his pants, he then stretched his arms over his head, taking in the sight of a rather disheveled Doom. The slightly more pronounced breaths he took suggested an unintended side effect of the whole episode, and his eyes narrowed as he realized Stephen had caught on.

“I don't feel like doing that right now,” Stephen said, “You want to do some science? There's an experiment for you. Break yourself out.” He gave Doom his best smile, heading to the door. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I could really go for a cup of tea.”


End file.
